Survive: A Diary
by DarkHunter2765
Summary: Diary of a man trying to survive in a zombie apocalypse.
1. Day 1

**Day 1**

Well, I'm pretty much fucked. That's my considered opinion.

I'm on the top of a 30 story high apartment building. I only have three days worth of food and water. Everyone thinks I'm dead, and I'm surrounded by zombies.

I guess I should start at the beginning.

The infection started in China. A small town in the west, rural and not well-known. A thirteen-year-old boy had apparently gone mad and had bitten two of the villagers. The boy has since been locked up and chained in a small, wooden room in the back of the town doctor's clinic. The doctor had also been bit while trying to restrain him, and he was lying in bed, running a high fever when the doctor from a large city came to investigate.

As the doctor walked into the rather small but packed town center, he immediately heard the sounds of scratching and moaning. As he neared the door, the villagers warned him away, telling him that he was cursed. The doctor wrote them off as being superstitious, but still cautiously walked into the room. There, he saw the boy, arms and legs shackled to the wall, moaning and moving crazily. He slowly moved forward, and tried to draw a blood sample. The needle slid into the skin, but then suddenly, the boy unleashed another furious bout of fighting, and the needle broke. The doctor forced his arm to the wall, and tried to take another one. This time, he did draw out a sample, but all that came out was a black sludge.

At this moment, screams came from the lobby outside. The doctor quickly ran out and saw that the town doctor was up from the bed. He had a crazy look in his eyes, not unlike the boy's. The town doctor unleashed a hellish moan and bit into the man next to him. He screamed and fell to the floor, taking the zombie with him. For a few seconds, there were only the sounds of flesh tearing and the unfortunate man's screams for help.

A shot rang out, and the zombie fell back. But by that time, the savaged man was beyond help. His stomach was ripped and his intestines spilled onto the floor, covering the floor with a deep scarlet. Still, the doctor went to examine him. What he didn't know was that the bullet didn't kill the town doctor. He stood back up and pounced onto the doctor examining the dead man. More screams, more gunshots, more chaos, more blood spilled.

When the Chinese Health Organization went to the village, all they saw was a burned out town. When they checked for survivors, all they found were zombies, though they didn't know it at the time. They forced them into trollies and sent them back to the city hospital. Before long, all the nurses and doctors and staff of the hospital were infected. Because of the Chinese Government's refusal to quarantine the cities that were infected, and to stop all air and sea travel, it didn't take long for the virus to spread to other countries. Now, almost every countries has it, and the survivors are fighting for their lives. But for all they know, it is a losing battle.

At least, that's what the after-action report I read about the beginning of the zombie apocalypse told me, now I'm just writing it down again.

America hasn't been much better off then any other country. Despite our best efforts, most of the major cities are now filled with hordes of zombies numbering up to the millions. I was one of the few who survived the initial panic and had found my way into an army base. They welcomed me in with open arms. I was a sergeant a decade ago.

Ever since the undead overtook New York, we've been sending helicopters to fly over the infested area and check for survivors. I've always thought that this was a stupid thing to do, that no one could have survived the siege, that even if there were living people, it would be too dangerous to pick them up. Finally, after protest after protest, the heads at base decided to stop all surveys over the city. This was supposed to be the last fly-by, and of course, I was on it.

We were doing just fine until the helicopter decided to throw a tantrum. After watching the pilot fumble with the controls, we suddenly dived down towards the ground. I have never been more sure that I was about to die. But just as suddenly, we stopped again. The pilot and I both let out a huge sigh of relief.

That's when the engine caught fire. I heard an explosion, and the left wall of the bird was ripped away by the force and got blown away by the wind, leaving a huge hole behind.

 _"Mayday! Mayday!"_ the pilot yelled into the radio. I pulled his arm and called over the roar of the wind. _"No use. We have to go."_ He nodded and took one of the parachutes hanging on the wall, I did the same. Another explosion, and the rotors stopped turning entirely.

"As the helicopter started hurtling towards the ground, we both jumped off the dying bird. As soon as I was completely clear of the helicopter, I opened my parachute. I wanted to be able to control my landing spot, since, well, there were goddamned zombies down there.

I saw an empty spot in the distance and aimed for it, all the way thinking that if I missed, I was a floating care pack for the ravenous monsters on the ground. A bright light caught my eye and I looked down. The burning helicopter had kamikazed right into a gas station. I saw a air dancer get launched hundreds of feet into the air. It hung there for a couple of moments, as if it was reaching for the sky, before falling back into the fiery hell below.

I floated slowly down to the roof of the apartment and landed safely. Looking back, I spotted the pilot. He wasn't so lucky. A cross-breeze blew him off-course and into the center of the mobs of undead that had heard the explosion and had closed in on his position. Even though I was 30 stories above, I could still see him get brutally devoured alive. An ear-piercing scream rang through the air for about a minute before slowly dying out. I saw in the distance, my pilot lying on the ground, stomach ripped apart, intestines splayed across the concrete sidewalk, and still trying to crawl away from the shambling monsters, leaving his lower body behind. I haven't looked back there since.

This was the final fly-over that the base was going to send over, thanks to my many protests. I have about 3 days worth of food and water. All that I have for a weapon is a machete. I have no way of communicating with the outside word, and I'm 30 stories from the ground, which is flooded by a sea of undead.

So yeah, I'm fucked.


	2. Day 2

**Day 2**

I woke up from my sleeping bag after a good night's sleep, ate a big breakfast, and thought up a great plan. I even found an AK-47 in a storage room with plenty of ammo next to it, and...

No. Not really. I slept on the cold hard ground last night, kind of reminds me of that Taylor Swift song. But instead of having a danger of having my heart broken, I have a very real chance of getting my heart _eaten._

Speaking of Taylor Swift, I actually met her and several other celebrities in the base, since it's one of the only safe havens in USA right now. And since they're VIPs, they were pretty much automatically taken into the safety of the base. Which I found unfair, but it isn't me that makes these decisions, is it? The only thing I ever convinced my upper officer to do was to stop the helicopter fly-bys, which is what landed me in this situation in the first place.

Anyway, back to the day's happenings. The moans of the zombie in the floors below last night sounded liked a chorus of insomnia. Yes, of course there are hundreds, maybe even thousands of undead in this building. I'm going to have to make my way down soon, since I can't just jump off the building. Yes, I know what you're thinking about. Why don't I just use the parachute I used to get off the helicopter? Two reasons. One. It is much more dangerous on ground, then in the building. That may seem counter-intuitive, but it makes sense if you think about it. New York had an population of 8.4 million, which is a population density of twenty-seven thousand and eight hundred people every square mile. So when the outbreak started in the city, it didn't take long for almost everyone to get infected. Now, the streets of the Big Apple are so packed with zombies, that you can't even see the pavement in most places. No, not going down there.

The second reason is, well, I don't have a parachute to jump with now anyway. After last night's lesson, I cut up the parachute with my machete and made a DIY sleeping bag. It's not much softer or warmer then the concrete, but hey, beggars can't be choosers.

The building below was once a apartment building filled with people. So I'm hoping to find food and water, supplies, maybe even weapons down there. For now, my primary target is to find a radio to call to base and tell them that I'm still alive and well, and if they would be so kind as to haul my sorry ass out of this hellhole. I also in need of a better weapon. I can't just stab every zombie in their eye sockets. What if I miss? And as for that matter, my blade in serrated, so there's quite a high chance of it getting stuck in the flesh. If that happens, they'll just pull me in, and rip, tear, bite... Well, you get the idea. What's left of me will look like the results of a baby in a tantrum, with a bottle of ketchup in hand. Surviving would be much easier if I had a gun.

There are thousands of ways to kill a man, but only one way to kill a zombie. Destroy the brain. Which is much harder then it sounds, since the human skull is one of the toughest materials in nature. With my blade, the only way I was getting through the cranium is if I stab through the eye socket or the temple. I'm not very good with a knife, so I don't really like my odds.

The virus that causes someone to transform into a zombie currently has no cure, so if you're bit, it's game over. Their flesh is also highly toxic, so no eating, not that I'd want to. And they also never stop. If they lock onto a target, they'll chase it relentlessly until either it or the target is destroyed.

I knew that the sooner I go down there the better, if I didn't find supplies in the lower floor, I'd still have enough to last me a day. So I decided to go down today. I took deep breaths, swung my machete around, told myself that it would be all right, and preparing to go down he stairs. Half an hour later, I had finished barricading up the roof entrance with some wooden boards I found on the floor, in fear of zombies coming through. Who the fuck am I kidding? I'm not ready yet! But inside, I know that I have to be ready soon. I only have enough food and water for one more day. After that, I'll start starving. I can hear faint banging sounds coming from behind the barricaded door already. I hope I've sealed that door up good. Another sleepless night I guess.


	3. Day 3

div style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana; text-align: center;"strongspan style="text-decoration: underline;"Day 3/span/strong/div  
div style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana;"I woke up to the sound of moaning./div  
div style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana;"Opening my eyes, I saw a zombie, dressed in a police uniform reaching down for me. I jumped back, well, fell back, and rolled away from the officer. It let out another hellish moan and shuffled towards me. Luckily, I could think straight right after waking up, so I knew what to do./div  
div style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana;"The machete was behind the ghoul, so I couldn't get it without the risk of getting grabbed and bit. So I did the only thing I could. Walking to the edge of the roof, I crouched and waited for the zombie to get closer. When he was within reaching distance, I push off and went around him, barely avoiding his reaching hands. As he groaned and slowly turned around, I ran up and kicked him off the roof, Spartan style. Bit dramatic, I know, but it did the job. He stumbled backward, moaned one last time, and tipped over the edge of the roof./div  
div style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana;"It turned out that I wasn't thinking as clearly as I thought. As the zombie started his long fall down to the mob thirty floors below, like a rocker diving onto the crowd, I saw that the strange thing hanging loosely from his rotten belt was a handgun. /div  
div style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana;""Aw shit!" I thought, and jumped towards the ghoul, reaching out for the precious firearm./div  
div style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana;"Twenty minutes later, I was still sitting on the edge of the roof, looking down at the zombie's rotten left shoe in my hand, dumbfounded at the fact that I had basically just thrown a weapon I desperately needed hundreds of feet below me. Oh well, it was probably rusted beyond repair anyway. /div  
div style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana;"After that depressing event, I barricaded the rooftop entrance again. I knew that I would have to take it all apart by tomorrow, because although a human can survive without food for about three weeks, I had no water left. After three days, I would be dead from dehydration. Anyhow, I can't risk to starve myself, I won't have the energy to fend for myself against the undead./div  
div style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana;"Sometimes I envy zombies. They don't feel pain. They don't have any weakness besides the brain, and even that's concealed in one of the hardest materials in nature. They also don't need to breathe, don't need blood circulation, don't need the immune system, don't need any vital organs really. Drinking, and yes, eating are also things that they needn't do. For some terrifying reason, the virus that infects the unfortunate human programs the body to hunt down any living creature and devour it, besides their own kind of course. The closest they have to fights are when there's food to be eaten, otherwise they just ignore each other. The food that they eat doesn't serve any nutritional value to the zombie, since the bacteria in the stomach that breaks down the food that we so greedily eat are all gone. It just sits in the stomach and colon, slowly rotting, until the zombie has eaten so much that the food is literally forced out of the anus. Sometimes, in extreme cases, their stomachs even explode. But they don't give a single goddamn. They just keep eating like Roman emperors at supper, even though the food drops out of their dismantled stomach five seconds after they swallowed it. /div  
div style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana;"Speaking of supper, eating my last meal now. Maybe that's not such a good way to put it. /div  
div style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana;"Having the last supper now. Hmm.../div  
div style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana;"Anyway, tomorrow's a big day. Got to get a good night's sleep tonight, even if I'm sleeping I'm sleeping in a parachute, and the only lullabies around are moans and shuffling footsteps. No matter what, tomorrow I'm going down./div  
div style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana;"Downstairs, I mean. Jeez, my subconscious is such a pessimist. /div 


End file.
